


Play That Song Again

by notdrunkenough



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notdrunkenough/pseuds/notdrunkenough
Summary: Married. Silver. Wonderful. Happy.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Play That Song Again

The fifteenth time he finds her, she’s playing with dolls in a white room, a vague outline of Pietro at her side. She moves its plastic head, and talks for it in a mocking voice.  
  
_YOU MUST BE TIRED, WANDA._  
  
A voice speaks to her from the unexplored reaches beyond the white. It’s her father, she decides, and imagines that his voice is new and fresh, lacking the bitter hatred he has in any time or place other than the shining paradise of a memory that never really happened.  
  
“It’s barely six!” she says and continues to smile and play, her eyes defiantly plastered to the blonde-haired doll while she twists its plastic arms.  
  
_LOOK AT ME, WANDA._  
  
She looks, up, and sees a wooden-paneled wall, filled with family photos, new paper clippings, and a desk with a lamp, littered with paper: her father’s study. His adult place, filled with things she can’t understand. His dark figure looms over her, eyes shadowed, and mouth curved disapprovingly.  
  
“I’m sorry for playing in your study, daddy,” she mutters sadly, looking back down to her doll, “I named her Magda, after Mummy! I can’t wait to play with it with her.”  
  
She can still see his dark outline from the corner of her eye. His lips don’t move.  
  
_YOUR MOTHER IS DEAD, WANDA._

* * *

She’s twenty-two when he proposes.  
  
He is called on by Pym, and she’s understanding. He owes Pym a lot. No doubt, if Pym called upon him on their wedding day, they’d put it on hold. You do that for family. Pietro's working across-state with their father, and Jean’s probably with one of her boyfriends, so she arrives to an empty apartment with no one to celebrate with.  
  
She’s happy, though, because she’s getting married to—  
  
_HIM? OH GOD, I KILLED HIM._  
  
She stares down at the interlocking threads of her bed’s pale red sheets and loses her train of thought. Getting married, that’s right. The engagement ring is silver.  
  
He’s wonderful, truly wonderful. He reminds her of Pietro in some small way. They have to stop living together and he has to stop protecting her so profusely from the rest of the world because now she’s getting married. Pietro won’t be happy.  
  
_HE HAS TO PROTECT YOU; YOU CAN’T PROTECT OTHERS FROM YOU, NEVER MIND YOURSELF._  
  
Wanda looks at the blank white room in front of her. She’s getting married. The engagement ring is silver. Her brother won’t be happy.  
  
Her fiancé is wonderful. He’s wonderful.  
  
_WHAT COLOUR IS HIS HAIR?_  
  
Married. Silver. Wonderful. Happy. Black. White. Blonde. Red.  
  
_WE KILLED HIM._  
  
Red.

* * *

My name is Wanda, and I’m special.  
  
People don’t trust me. They don’t trust people like me. They hate us because we’re different—we’re special. My father is going to change the world one day.  
  
I’m sitting in a meeting room, surrounded by people like me. I’m just special, not spectacular like them. I’m a simple witch—just a witch. I fly on a broomstick and mix potions.  
  
No one looks me in the eye. They all too involved in the meeting to look back at me. Its okay, I’m not offended. I’m sure it’s important, not something simple. I’m not on the team-list. What use would they have for me—just a witch. None.  
  
_YOU’RE SO MUCH MORE, WANDA._  
  
My brother—he’s sitting next to me, holding my hand beneath the table—a speedster. He’s on the team-list. He is spectacular: the best speedster of them all.  
  
He always complains that they don’t appreciate me enough—that I’m so much more.  
  
I see his vague outline beside me, but I don’t look back. “Pay attention, Pietro,” I mutter back, “you’ll get yourself killed if you don’t.”  
  
He pushes closer to me, fingertips brushing my thighs and his shoulder and side discreetly pushing against my own. I smile lightly to myself, forcing my eyes ahead to the unintelligible chatting ahead though my mind stays on him, always. I whisper, “You should st—”  
  
_HE’D DIE FOR YOU._  
  
I blink. He isn’t warm.  
  
_BUT HE WON’T LET YOU DIE._  
  


* * *

_postscript;_  
  
Let’s try this again. My name is Wanda, and I never once slept with my brother.  
  
_HA HA, THAT’S A GOOD ONE._

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago while rereading House of M. Decided to post it in celebration of WandaVision. Excited! Gray italics are meant to be Xavier, red italics are Wanda, I hope that came across.


End file.
